Mass Casualties: A Young Medic's True Story of Death, Deception, and Dishonor in Iraq (8 page)

I look at Markham and wish that today wasn't a day where I felt nothing but apathy. I wish it was a nice, caring day; one where I could sit down and talk with him about all my fears and concerns about fighting this war and missing everyone back home. I don't have the heart to tell him that I wasn't just talking in my sleep. I was wide awake and I really didn't know what day it was or if I had to be at work. That's how it's been for the last few days. During the surgeries, I can't remember if the surgery I just did happened the day before or only a few hours ago. The surgeries are routine and all blend into one another — pass this, pass that, cut here, cauterize there. The doctors and nurses don't care. As long as I pass the right instrument, what's it to them? They don't complain. I feel that being too good at my job is hurting me. I know that if I messed up a surgery just once I could blame it on the lack of sleep and Gagney would be in trouble. I know all I need is for one patient to die because an OR medic messed up due to lack of sleep. I know that one patient's death could force Gagney to have to make a new schedule.

Markham is staring at me. I don't know how long ago he stopped talking, but his face looks concerned. I've seen the look on his face before. I've seen it on the face of my older brothers every time I've gotten myself into trouble or a situation that was over my head. Markham wants to help me out. Why couldn't he have chosen a day to talk to me when I feel something? Why did he have to choose today when I feel nothing?

“All right, quit staring at me,” I finally say. “Everything's fine.”

Markham continues staring at me as I get dressed for work. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't understand how he could care about me more than he cares about himself.

2300 HOURS, OR

I walk into the OR and Sergeants Waters and Sellers are standing there. There are only supposed to be two people on shift, but three of us are standing here. I don't know what's going on. I know that I'm on third shift today. I look back at Sellers and Waters; I know that Waters is on shift, so Sellers must be wrong or just here to hang out.

“Ummmm,” Sellers says as she turns around and heads toward the break room and takes the schedule off of the door.

I grab the schedule from Sellers's hands as she begins reading it.

“FUCK!” I scream.

Sellers has the schedule flipped to a page showing three days. On one day I am working first shift, on another second, and the other third. I don't know what day today is.

“FUCK!” I scream again.

Waters, who has been a lot nicer to me since I yelled at her, leans over my shoulder and points at the right day.

I let the schedule drop out of my hands and I turn around to head back to my room. The sleeping pills have worn off and my screaming woke me up. It's 2300 hours. I need to be at work in eight hours and I am wide awake.

2315 HOURS, MY ROOM

Markham is already asleep and snoring when I get back to my room. Opening the door, I slam it closed and turn the light on. I am angry, but I don't know what to do with the anger. I don't know what day of the week it is. I'm angry at Gagney and his schedules and most of all angry at myself for not being able to do anything. I'm powerless — I'm weak — I'm not a man — I only do whatever I am told — I'm a sprocket in the machine of the Army, an easily replaceable sprocket. I wish I could go back to feeling nothing. I know what to do with nothing — nothing. I know what to do with nothing — nothing. I know what to do with nothing — nothing… .

I glance over at the bottle of pills on my nightstand. It's the middle of the night. I'm nowhere near sleep and I have eight hours to kill. I really have no choice but to take more… .

WEEK 1, DAY 2, IRAQ

0730 HOURS, OR

Gagney is at the door waiting for me as I head into the OR half an hour late:

“Hey Anthony, I heard you came in last night by accident. I hope I'm not working you too hard, am I? How you feeling buddy?” He smiles, but it looks awkward and forced. I think the only thing scarier than seeing your executioner would be seeing your executioner smile as he kills you. Gagney talks to me through his smile.

“I went to the Post Exchange and got everyone bagels. Go ahead and grab one.”

Elster and Reto are in the break room eating.

“So, I'm in Iraq and I no longer dream of being home with family or friends. Now I only dream of Gagney being nice to me,” I say in an attempt at humor.

“You ain't dreaming,” Elster tells me. “Gagney
is
being nice to you.”

The chief ward masters are having a meeting with us today. Chief ward masters are the ones that are in charge of the hospital. If there are any problems, they're the final word. Early this morning someone went and complained about Gagney and the way he's been running things. Apparently, our section looks like crap. All the other sections are on set schedules and ours is the only one that changes every day.

The day goes by slow. We have no cases so Gagney has us clean the entire OR. He sends Reto to tell everyone on all the other shifts about the meeting. It's going to be between first and second shift, but everyone from third shift has to be there as well.

1505 HOURS, OR

The chief ward masters ask us to tell them what's bothering us.

Torres is the first to start talking. “I'm not one to complain, but the way this man is treating us is disrespectful — ”

“Idiots, he treats us like we're idiots,” Hudge interrupts.

“We switch shifts every day. I am on second shift today. Yesterday I was on first, the day before that second, the day before that third. Tomorrow I'm back on third shift. How does any of that make sense?” says Crade.

“He doesn't do any work. All he does is sit around and play computer games and watch anime. He was sent here as an operating room technician, but why has he only done a handful of cases since he's been here? I do as many in one day as he does in a month,” says Sellers, who has obviously come to see the light.

Waters jumps in. “We need better leadership, someone who will stay on top of things. He yelled at me twice last week over nothing. There is no need for him to raise his voice to us.”

An hour goes by and everyone has something negative to say about Gagney. Hudge, Sellers, and Waters all have tears in their eyes. The chief ward masters look at Reto and me and ask if we have anything to add since we haven't spoken yet. Everyone in the OR is looking at us. I look at Reto. His eyes are red, not from the lack of sleep, but because he's going to cry. He can't control himself any longer.

“This is bullshit. I joined the Army to help people, not to be treated like shit. I understand that we're at war and that times are tough. But look at every other section… .” Reto has to stop to compose himself. “Every other section in this hospital is running fine. Gagney won't even let us try and change the schedule to get a better one. We mentioned it and he told us just to deal with it. He's a fucking… .” Reto stops talking. He knows he can't talk without crying. Everyone turns and looks at me.

I look back at them.

“I agree with Reto,” I say.

Everyone continues to look at me and I look back. Waters, Sellers, and Hudge look angrily at me, but I look back at them and with my eyes I try to explain that my body won't let me feel. I have nothing to say because I can't speak with the passion that they all just spoke with. I wish I could stand up and give a moving speech that would change our entire section and make us all friends and love each other, but I know I can't do this and if I could it would be all lies. I really can't stand up for myself. I know it's best for me to just sit here in silence.

The chief ward masters look at me as if I'm slow. I stare at their foreheads and they get up and say that they'll deal with the problem. When I get up, Waters seems especially disappointed that I haven't said anything. As I leave to go back toward my room, I overhear everyone trying to figure out who it was that complained to the chief ward masters. When I get back to my room I leave a note on Markham's pillow: “Thank You.”

WEEK 1, DAY 3, IRAQ

0640 HOURS, OR

I walk in early; I know I can't be late two days in a row. Gagney is already in. He's sitting at a desk and all around him are crumpled up pieces of yellow paper.

I get my room ready for surgery. There are four scheduled.

1500 HOURS, OR

When I get out of surgery the second shift comes in. Gagney is still sitting at the desk surrounded by even more pieces of crumpled yellow paper. He smiles when he sees Hudge:

“Sergeant Hudge, would you please come to the break room with me for a second?”

Two minutes later Gagney comes out lookin' free as a bird, grabs his coat and weapon, and leaves. Hudge walks over to me with a smile from ear to ear.

“Gagney wants me to rewrite the schedule.”

1700 HOURS, OR

Crade has a copy of Hudge's finished schedule.

First Shift: Gagney — Shift leader; Elster — In charge of supply; Crade — In charge of CMS (central material services, the place where we sterilize instruments.); Anthony, Chandler, Torres — Main OR technicians.

Second Shift: Hudge — Shift leader; Reto, Denti — Main OR technicians.

Third Shift: Waters — Shift leader; Sellers — Main OR technician.

It's mapped out for the next month. Hudge has our official days off scheduled, taking into consideration guard duty, so that when it's complete, we'll get the next day off. Bottom line: Every eleven days we'll have a day off.

Everyone is ecstatic, even the ones that weren't changing shifts in the first place — Waters, Elster, Hudge. Gagney walks in and notices the commotion. He studies the schedule and quickly throws it on the table. When he storms off, Hudge laughs.

“He asks me to make the schedule because he said that everyone can't be happy. He figured everyone would be mad at me instead of him… . It only took me half an hour.”

All we needed was a half-hour to make all the pains of the last month go away.

WEEK 1, DAY 4, IRAQ

0600 HOURS, MY ROOM

The new shift: Everyone is in a great mood when I arrive at work.

“Hey Anthony,” Gagney says enthusiastically as I enter the OR. His overly friendly, almost gay voice kind of freaks me out, but I brush it off . Today is a good day and I don't feel like thinking about the inner thoughts behind everyone's actions.

“Can you do me a favor?” Gagney asks, which is the first time I have ever heard him ask for something and not demand it. My ears perk up and I know that I am now obligated to do it no matter what, simply for the reason because he is asking and not ordering.

“Can you go tell everyone from all shifts to come in at fifteen hundred hours? And after you tell everyone you can go back to your room and have the rest of the day off . Take a break, here's my pager. If there's an emergency I'll get in touch with you.”

I know I am not dreaming. I tell everyone to be in at 1500 hours.

1505 HOURS, OR

Gagney is talking to us:

“I know that things haven't been easy this past month. I know that I may have been hard on a few of you, but after talking to the chief ward masters and seeing how easily Hudge was able to make that schedule, I realize that I may need to back off a little bit and become more of a reasonable and approachable leader. So if you guys have any further complaints, bring them up to me first. There's no need to go over my head to the chief ward masters. In fact, and I shouldn't even have to order this, but you are not allowed to go directly to the chief ward masters. You can talk to them and complain about me to them, but you are ordered to come to me first,” says Gagney.